


When the Clock Strikes Twelve

by lamardeuse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU in which Merlin agrees to help a friend and finds his destiny instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Clock Strikes Twelve

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this novel summary](http://www.millsandboon.com/books/Special-Releases/Wicked-Secrets.htm) \- 
> 
>  
> 
> _Do you want to know a secret? When Merlin Emrys agrees to do a favour for a friend he doesn’t think he’ll end up at Albion Hall. Stepping into a world dripping with old-school glamour, he and his knock-off Vivienne Westwood boots do not belong. Pretending to be his straight friend’s boyfriend he’s out of his depth enough in a world of champagne, chandeliers and chauffeur-driven cars, the last thing he needs is a crush on returning Royal Marine officer and heir apparent Arthur Pendragon. But scandal and secrets bubble under the surface of even the best champagne…and dark truths about the Pendragon dynasty are about to be revealed..._
> 
>  
> 
> Please see end notes for additional warnings.

“Oh my God, Gwen,” Merlin breathed, coming to a sudden stop as he climbed from the cab and looked up. And up. And up.

 

“Come _on_ ,” Gwen hissed, utterly unsympathetic. “You're supposed to look like you go to places like this all the time.”

 

Merlin tugged self-consciously at the knot of his bow tie. He didn't own a formal ensemble – had only ever worn one to his cousin's wedding – but luckily Gwen's boyfriend, who worked for the company that was catering this event, had a friend who gave them a huge discount on a suit hire. Merlin just hoped he wasn't dressed exactly like the waiters.

 

“Please stop pulling at that,” Gwen implored, tugging Merlin's hand away from his tie. “It took me twenty minutes to get that looking right the last time you undid it.”

 

Merlin turned back to the cab, where Gwaine was grinning at him from the drivers' seat. “Break a leg,” Gwaine said, winking.

 

“I don't suppose you'd like to change places?” Merlin asked weakly. After all, Gwaine's father had been a Lord Something-or-Other; he'd know how to hobnob with toffs, which fork to use. “The suit would probably even fit you.”  
  


“Not a chance,” Gwaine said. “I escaped, remember? And Gwen already asked me.” With a last wave, he tore off down the long driveway toward the London Road.

 

Merlin stared at Gwen. “I thought you said I was your first choice!”

 

Gwen had the good grace to look apologetic. “If it's any consolation, I was ninety-nine percent sure he'd say no before I asked him. And I had to try, because let's face it, Merlin, you're terrible at keeping secrets.”

 

“You'd be surprised at how many secrets I can keep,” Merlin muttered, drawing himself up stiffly.

 

“There, now!” Gwen said, patting his shoulder. “That's more like it!” And with that, she laced her arm through his and headed for the front door. Merlin had no choice but to follow her.

 

“So I'm still not sure how you're going to do this,” Merlin murmured, after Gwen had shown her invitation – cadged from another mate of Lance's – and been granted admittance. “You can't just storm up to Mithian and demand an explanation in the middle of the party.”

 

“Can't I, though?” Gwen said sweetly, the steel in her eye chilling Merlin straight to the bone. “But no, I won't confront her in public. I just need a few minutes alone with her. I want to hear from her why she's doing this to Elyan.”

 

“And the fact that Elyan told you to stay out of it –”

 

“You and I both know that my brother doesn't always know what's good for him.”

 

“Well, I'd say his girlfriend announcing her engagement to another bloke in front of every rich wanker in London is a pretty good sign that the choice has been taken out of his hands. He's probably decided to move on, and maybe you should, too.”

 

A waiter – thankfully, not dressed like Merlin – glided by with a tray full of champagne, and Gwen smiled and thanked him as she took one. Deciding he needed to keep a clear head, Merlin declined. “You still don't understand,” Gwen continued. “They were together as late as _last weekend_ , and they looked happier than they'd ever been. There's no way that they could go from that to Mithian marrying another man in a week.”

 

“That does seem like a pretty hard rebound,” Merlin allowed. Another waiter passed, this time with canapés; Merlin snagged a shrimp in some sort of pastry. “But I still say it's their business.”

 

“Then why did you agree to help me?” Gwen huffed.

 

“Because you're my best friend, and I love you, even if you are being a teensy bit stalkerish right now,” Merlin said, popping the shrimp in his mouth and grinning around it so that the tail stuck out from between his teeth.

 

Gwen rolled her eyes. “You're such a berk. And I'm not being stalkerish. I adore Mithian, and I want to know what's going on with her as well. This whole thing doesn't make any sense, and for some reason, Elyan can't tell me about it. If she's being pressured somehow, or – oh, I don't know, it's all conjecture. I just want the truth.”

 

Merlin swallowed his snack, which was rather horribly delicious. He glanced about for another waiter bearing more of the same. “Okay, then. What's the plan?”

 

Gwen shrugged. “Find Mithian and get her alone somehow.”

 

“Right,” Merlin said, eyeing the burgeoning crowd of partygoers. “That might be difficult.”

 

Gwen bit her lip and nodded. “I'll admit it seemed easier in theory.”

 

“All right, then, Lady Penelope,” Merlin said, proferring his arm, “shall we?”

 

Gwen inclined her head. “F.A.B., Parker me old mucker.”

 

“That was a rubbish Lady Penelope,” Merlin chided, and Gwen burst into laughter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Arthur knew Mithian was likely to kill him when she arrived at the party, but he hadn't realised he was going to do it while he was stark naked.

 

He was just emerging from his bathroom after a shower to remove the fine sheen of nervous sweat he'd acquired over the last hour when he caught sight of her sitting on his bed. Her arms were folded and she had her best glare fixed on him as though she were trying to burn him to a crisp with the power of her eyeballs.

 

“Christ!” Arthur exclaimed, gripping the door frame for balance. Hurriedly, he grabbed the towel from around his neck and wrapped it round his waist.

 

Mithian flapped a hand. “Oh, please, it's not as though I've never seen one.”

 

“You haven't seen _mine_ ,” Arthur said irritably.

 

Mithian batted her eyelashes at him. “How can you say that, my darling dearest husband-to-be?”

 

“All right, all right,” Arthur grumbled. “I know I've gone and cocked it up a bit.”

 

“A _bit?_ ” Mithian demanded, rising to her feet. “This is not a _bit_ of a cock-up. This is an elephant-turd-sized, royal flaming cock-up.”

 

“He practically ambushed me as soon as I was off the plane!”Arthur said, throwing up his hands. “Told me that now I'd been promoted, it was high time to settle down. Before I knew what he was about, he was ringing the papers.”

 

“I still can't believe he put together a party like this so quickly.”

 

Arthur's jaw clenched. “When General Pendragon says jump...”

 

“Well, I'm not jumping, Arthur, and neither are you. This is completely ridiculous.”

 

“I tried to stop him – but you know how he is.” Mithian nodded; they had known one another since primary school, and as Arthur's best friend, she had been witness to more of his struggles – with Uther, with his sister, with life in general – than anyone.

 

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. “I'm sorry. I should never have dragged you into this.”

 

Mithian's expression softened as she closed the distance between them. “You hardly dragged me, darling. I volunteered to play pretend girlfriend to keep your father at bay, after all.” Raising her arms, she said, “And now we're going to forget about all that for a moment, because I'm going to give the naked man a hug, all right?”

 

“Fine with me,” Arthur said, relief making his knees weak as she enfolded him in her arms. Arthur carefully kept one hand on the towel as he returned the hug with the other. “I've missed you, Tiny.”

 

“Me, too. I'm so bloody glad you're home safe.”

 

The corners of Arthur's eyes prickled; he might be twenty-eight, a leader of men and a newly minted captain in the Royal Marines after a year in Afghanistan, but he still couldn't help but wish he'd heard the same words from his father earlier this week. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I know I should have told him before this. I've been a coward.”

 

Mithian drew back. “Hardly that. It took you a long time to come to terms with who you are, Arthur. And when you finally did, you were deployed again. I imagine opportunities for a heart-to-heart with him were a bit thin on the ground.”

 

Arthur shook his head. “Believe me, I've tried to start the conversation with him a dozen times over the last week, but he's forever going to a briefing with the PM or inspecting the bloody troops, and I never seemed to have his full attention. But it's not only him, it's me. I can't –” he swallowed “– I still can't bear the thought of disappointing him.”

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mithian said, cupping his cheek in her hand. ”Are you really so sure it would be a disappointment?”

 

Arthur smiled sadly. “Anyone would be disappointed to learn you're not going to become part of their family.”

 

Mithian shoved him gently, and he sighed. “I don't know. Until this, I never wanted to take the risk. But it's obviously past time. I'll make it right, I promise.”

 

Mithian raised an eyebrow. “And how do you plan to do that?” she asked.

 

Arthur barked a short laugh. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea.”

 

“We could just let your dad have his night, then announce in a month or two we'd decided to call it off.”

 

“And what would Elyan think of that?”

 

Mithian pursed her lips. “I doubt he'd be terribly impressed, but he'd understand.”

 

“I'll wager he'd like to punch me in the mouth.”

 

“He'd do no such thing. But he might challenge you to a duel.”

 

“Pistols at twenty paces?”

 

“Swords,” Mithian said, face deadpan.

 

“I thought you said he was an artist!”

 

“He is,” Mithian said. “He works in metal – beautiful things, hand-forged. And one of the things he makes is swords. And chain mail. Which he then uses to dress up like silly buggers at the weekends and pretend he's at the battle of Agincourt or something.”

 

“Does he make you wear a dress with huge sleeves and one of those hats shaped like a giant ice-cream cone?”

 

“Don't be silly. He's teaching me to fight.”

 

Arthur chuckled. “Now that would be one way to get out of this. Don your chain mail and chase all the guests with a bloody great sword.”

 

Mithian's gaze glinted dangerously, and she smiled in a way that Arthur found very, very creepy. “Can I?”

 

“God,” Arthur groaned, burying his face in both hands. Which is of course when the towel slipped from his waist and fell to the floor.

 

“Or perhaps you could just wave yours about,” Mithian said merrily. “I'd be willing to bet it would clear the room almost as quickly.”

 

Arthur did an about face and marched back to the bathroom, with his hands still covering his now beet red face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Remember, you're supposed to be my date,” Gwen chided. “Checking out all the fit lads in uniform is not on.”

 

Merlin scowled. “Oh, for heaven's sake, I'm scanning the crowd for Mithian, like you asked,” he huffed.

 

“I know an appreciative leer when I see it,” Gwen said, but when Merlin turned round there was a twinkle in her eye.

 

Gwen giggled. “I'm sorry. I'm getting rather – God, this is mad, isn't it?”

 

“A little, yeah.” Merlin admitted. He didn't say she was at least partially right – he had been looking at the blokes, but not in the way she thought. Merlin had been searching for one man in particular, though he knew there was virtually no chance he'd run into him here.

 

He'd met Nigel a little over a year ago, in a club. Merlin didn't often go clubbing, and he'd never been to this particular place in Spitalfields, but he'd been feeling lonely and pathetic after Gwen started dating Lancelot. After all, lots of gay men found romance – well, a good fuck, at least – in clubs.

 

Merlin had felt completely out of place – he seemed to be the only one over the age of twenty-five, and he knew his clothes weren't nearly tight enough to be fashionable. He'd been about to turn around and leave when he spotted Nigel, who looked even more out of place there than Merlin. He looked like a footy player – close-cropped blond hair, light blue jeans, faded t-shirt, trainers, gorgeous in that sporty, effortless way – but when he moved, eyes scanning the room, Merlin realised he was probably military. Will's dad, a retired SAS sergeant and veteran of the Falklands, had carried himself the same way. There was no mistaking that bearing, or that way of looking at the world, as though anything or anyone might be a threat.

 

Merlin sighed. Or maybe he was just a nervous, footy-playing closet case. Nevertheless, Merlin had felt drawn to him, curiosity or lust overwhelming his good sense, and two hours later he was back in his flat, riding Nigel's rather spectacular cock. Which one would think would have been a satisfying conclusion to the night, only when he woke up in the morning to an empty bed, Merlin found himself wanting more. Not only more of Nigel's cock – although as he said, it was spectacular – but more of Nigel. There was something in the intensity with which he looked at Merlin, as though he were trying to stare his way into his soul, something about the way he clung to Merlin desperately as he came, about the way he'd apologised afterward, concerned he'd hurt Merlin (he hadn't). Something about the way he'd breathed Merlin's name into his hair as Merlin fell asleep, as though the word alone had the power to conjure.

 

Merlin had returned to the club the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. When two weeks had gone by and he was completely knackered from lack of sleep, he resolved himself to the fact that Nigel wasn't coming back. He’d dated a couple of other men since, but even after a year, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. And whenever he’d seen a man in uniform, he couldn’t stop himself from checking to see if it was Nigel.

 

Unfortunately, about half the people at this ball were wearing military uniforms, and between searching for Mithian and looking for a man who was likely nowhere near this place, Merlin's neck was getting sore from all the work it was doing spinning his head about.

 

Gwen sighed. “Look, maybe we'd have more luck if we split up.”

 

Merlin's heart raced. “You're the only one with an invitation. What if someone realises I'm not supposed to be here and I can't find you?”

 

“Don't be silly, Merlin. We got in – they're not going to check our credentials now.”

 

“And I barely know Mithian. What am I going to do if I find her? It's not like I can convince her not to marry this Arthur bloke.”

 

Gwen reached into her tiny purse and pulled out her phone. “You have heard of these, right? Text me if you see her. I'll take it from there.”

 

Merlin sighed. “Yes, all right,” he said heavily, knowing he was being ridiculous. Just because he felt out of place – and out of sorts – in this sea of uniforms and nobs, it didn't mean he'd be spotted as an impostor and thrown out on his arse.

 

Gwen patted his arm reassuringly. “You'll be fine.” And before he could dispute this, she was gone.

 

“Shit,” Merlin muttered, gaining him a sharp look from an older man with a chest full of medals.

 

 _I'm going to be thrown out on my arse,_ Merlin thought, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downing it in one gulp.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm going to throw up,” Arthur said.

 

“You'll be fine,” Mithian said bracingly. “You've faced much worse.”

 

“Patrols in Helmand were easier than facing Father.”

 

Mithian scanned the crowd below. “Speaking of confrontations with your father, I meant to ask you – is Morgana coming tonight?”

 

Arthur shook his head. “I honestly don't know. I haven't seen her since Tuesday. She dropped off the map after that. I've been texting her and leaving messages, but she hasn't returned any of my calls.”

 

“Shouldn't we be worried?”

 

“Dad says he thinks she said something about visiting her cousin for a few days. Mobile service up there is a little spotty.”

 

Mithian frowned. “That's – odd. Even for Morgana.”

 

“Oi, that's my sort-of-but-not-really sister you're talking about there.”

 

Mithian laughed, and Arthur smiled with her. That was how Morgana and Arthur had described their relationship since they'd been kids, and Morgana had come to live with them after her parents had been killed in a car accident. Uther and Commodore Gorlois had been closer than brothers, and the Gorlois' will had given custody of Morgana to Uther.

 

“I had lunch with the two of them while you were overseas,” Mithian said. “Morgause is – erm. Rather driven.”

 

“If by 'rather driven' you mean 'creepy as fuck', then you and my father agree,” Arthur drawled.

 

“Ugh. Thanks for that.” Mithian eyed him. “What do you think of her?”

 

“I've never met her; she only popped into Morgana's life a few months ago, while I was in Afghanistan. Morgana's mad about her, but I'm not sure what her motives are.”

 

Mithian cocked an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she just wants to get to know her cousin better.”

 

Arthur shook his head. “She couldn't be arsed to so much as ring Morgana for the first twenty-nine years of her life. Why now?”

 

“Sounds like you're a wee bit jealous.”

 

Arthur shrugged. “I suppose I am. For all that we're like night and day, Morgana and I always got along. Lately, I can feel her – I don't know, 'slipping away' sounds so maudlin, but it's true. She's not the same as she was before Morgause showed up out of the blue.”

 

“I'm sorry, love,” Mithian said. “I hope she does make it.”

 

Arthur smiled. “Perhaps it's better she doesn't come. She'd give me a right bollocking.”

 

“No, she wouldn't,” Mithian said.

 

Arthur looked away. “We never really – talked about my –” he waved a hand. “We're close, but we don't discuss our sex lives, which is just as well, I suppose.”

 

“It's a little more than your sex life,” Mithian said gently. “It's who you are, Arthur.”

 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he said, “we didn't talk about it. And now I'm regretting it. I should have told her before this.”

 

“Oh, I think she's known for quite some time that you're a great flaming pansy.”

 

Arthur spun round. “Morgana!” he exclaimed, immediately tugging her into a tight embrace.

 

“Darling, you're wrinkling me,” she whined, and Arthur laughed and hugged her harder.

 

“When did you get back?” Arthur demanded as he released her.

 

“This morning,” Morgana said. “I've been staying with friends.”

 

Arthur stiffened. “Morgause?”

 

“No, dearest, I said friends, not family.” Arthur couldn't help feeling a bit stung at that, which was silly; it wasn't as though Morgana no longer considered him to be family. “I can't believe you thought I didn't know,” she continued. “Obviously you have no respect for my intelligence.”

 

“For God's sake,” Arthur said, cheeks heating, “I couldn't even admit it to myself until just before I left for Afghanistan.”

 

Morgana rolled her eyes. “I knew for years. Ever since you kept ogling my boyfriend when you were in sixth form.”

 

“Jesus,” Arthur said, hanging his head. As though he could hate tonight any more than he already did.

 

Morgana nodded at Mithian. “Hello, Mithian. Have you planned your escape yet?”

 

Mithian's mouth thinned. “I'm leaving that up to Arthur.”

 

“Oh god, that's a terrible idea,” Morgana breathed. “The last thing Arthur wants is a confrontation with Pater.”

 

“I am standing right here,” Arthur snapped.

 

Morgana calmly arched an eyebrow at him. “You've had all week to talk to him and call this circus off, and you haven't done it. Why should we expect you're going to man up now?”

 

“That's a bit harsh,” Mithian said, drawing herself up, and Arthur clenched his hands into fists.

 

“All right,” he growled, drawing the surprised attention of Mithian and the smirking leer of Morgana, “I'm going to talk to him.”

 

“Attaboy,” Morgana said as he turned on his heel. “And don't worry about the party,” she called after him, “I plan to ensure everyone is thoroughly entertained.”

 

Arthur's step faltered at the cold tone in her voice, but after a moment he kept walking. Morgana always loved to ramp up the drama, but he doubted even she could manage to make herself the centre of negative attention considering the bombshell Arthur was preparing to drop.

 

No, tonight was Arthur's night to fail his father. And Morgana was right about one thing: it was past time for him to man up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Around the third glass of champagne – maybe the fourth, he wasn't sure – Merlin started to feel much better about everything.

 

In some dim corner of his brain, a little voice was reminding him that champagne always made him ridiculously hung over, and that he would probably be praying for death come morning, but right now, everything was _brilliant._ Merlin had begun chatting with a bloke called Percival, who was as tall as a tree and looked as though his shoulders and arms were about to burst out of his uniform. Percival was a Royal Marine and Arthur was his commanding officer, and so Merlin reasoned that if he stuck around Percival, Arthur would eventually show up, and if Arthur showed up, Mithian would probably be with him. It was the kind of plan that seemed like utter genius when you were half gone on very nice champagne, and Merlin was proud of himself for thinking of it.

 

“Arthur's the best commander I've ever had,” Percival said. “He treats his men fairly, and he's a brilliant tactician.”

 

Although Percival did have one flaw: he couldn't stop talking about the git. Merlin supposed that was normal, of course – everyone here except Merlin and Gwen was here to celebrate the happy couple – but with each successive glass of champagne it was growing more and more difficult to keep smiling indulgently at Percival's mancrush on the dashing and heroic Captain Pendragon, who as far as Merlin was concerned was nothing but a berk. Or was that a bastard? Something starting with a B, anyway.

 

“How long have he and Mithian known one another?” Merlin asked. He really needed Percival to get off Arthur, and he might as well try to glean some information for Gwen at the same time.

 

“Oh, they've been friends since they were children,” Percival said. “Didn't you know that? I thought you said your girlfriend and Mithian were friends.”

 

“Erm,” Merlin said. “Well, yeah, they are, but I don't really know her myself. Mithian, I mean, not my girlfriend.” He shrugged, trying to assume the air of a clueless straight bloke. “You know, your girlfriend says, 'put on a suit and tie and take me to this fancy dress ball,' and you just do what she tells you. You don't ask questions, am I right?”

 

Percival stared at him for a moment. “I suppose so,” he said slowly. Then his gaze lifted, catching sight of someone or something behind Merlin, and he broke into a wide grin.

 

And Merlin turned to find himself face to face with the man he'd never thought he'd see again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Merlin.

 

Bloody hell, _Merlin._

 

Arthur had spent over a year trying not to think about him. Of course, he had failed miserably. He'd always believed _you never forget your first_ was a cliché – especially when your first was a bloke you'd picked up in a club for a one-night stand. However, when you were scheduled to deploy to Afghanistan the next day, and you were desperately trying to prove to yourself that you weren't gay and instead proved the opposite quite spectacularly, Arthur supposed forgetting wasn't an option.

 

And then there was the fact that Merlin himself had been surprisingly memorable. He'd seemed as ill-suited to the club scene as Arthur had been, which was the quality that had initially drawn Arthur to him. As they talked, Merlin had turned out to be clever, funny, and quite sweet – Arthur had never felt as comfortable with anyone in so short a time. Merlin had dragged him onto the dance floor over his protests (“Come on, we should at least _pretend_ we're cool!”) and after a bit of flailing and laughter they'd ended up plastered against one another, kissing open-mouthed and desperate.

 

Merlin had brought about an epiphany, but he'd also been one himself: there was something about him, something Arthur couldn't put a name to. When Merlin had taken him home to his tiny flat and his tinier bed later that night, Arthur had felt as though there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

 

Waking in the middle of the night to catch the first train back to base, he'd stolen away without even telling Merlin his real name. Finally coming to terms with his identity had been almost a relief, but leaving Merlin as he had – like a coward – had been a persistent regret. His training and discipline had maintained his focus on the task at hand, but in his rare down time, his thoughts had strayed to Merlin over and over again – what might have happened if he'd had more time, if he'd told Merlin the truth from the beginning.

 

Over the last week, he'd thought about going by Merlin's flat, but had decided against it. The man probably didn't even remember him, and if he did, he wouldn't think of that night the same way Arthur had. No, it would be best to leave things as they were, even if Arthur wished he could have ended the night differently. There was no chance to relive the past.

 

However, that didn't change the fact that the past had apparently decided to walk into Albion Hall tonight and smack him right in the face.

 

Merlin was staring at him as though he'd seen a ghost, which answered the question of whether or not he'd come here expecting to find Arthur. He wasn't quite gaping, but he did look a little silly. He also looked utterly gorgeous in formal wear that accentuated his tall, lean frame.

 

Realising he was staring at Merlin right back, Arthur swiftly turned to Percy and clasped his hand. “Percival, thank you for coming.”

 

“I wouldn't have missed it, sir,” Percival said. “Congratulations.”

 

“Erm, thanks,” Arthur managed. He glanced back at Merlin, who was frowning slightly at him.

 

“Oh, I'm sorry, you haven't met,” Percival said. “Captain Arthur Pendragon, this is Merlin – I'm sorry, I didn't get your last name –”

 

“Emrys,” Merlin croaked, extending a hand. “Merlin Emrys.” Merlin's grip was firm, and Arthur suppressed a shiver at the contact. Merlin hadn't stopped staring at him, and the attention was beginning to make Arthur squirm. In another minute, he'd be blushing like a teenager.

 

“His girlfriend and Mithian are friends,” Percival continued, seemingly oblivious to the silent drama enacting itself before him.

 

“His girlfriend,” Arthur repeated, looking at Merlin in confusion.

 

“Yes, her name is Gwen,” Merlin said.

 

“That's – nice,” Arthur said, completely nonplussed. He'd been fairly sure Merlin had said he was gay, not bi, and he was speaking his girlfriend's name as though it should mean something to Arthur. What the hell was going on? “I can't wait to meet her.”

 

It had evidently been the wrong thing to say: Merlin's mouth thinned and he released Arthur's hand. “Well, _Arthur,_ ” he said pointedly, “it was lovely to finally meet you.”

 

Arthur could only stare back at him mutely, uncharacteristically paralysed by indecision. He knew the timing of this couldn't be worse: up until a minute ago, he'd been searching for his father, and his first priority should be to put a stop to this sham of an engagement party. But seeing Merlin again and touching him had him completely turned round. He knew that running into him again was a miracle and that if he didn't seize this opportunity, he'd add an even more painful regret to his list.

 

There was no other choice.

 

Arthur's eyes widened. “Oh, damn, Merlin! I'm sorry, I totally forgot – erm, someone was looking for you earlier,” he babbled. “I think they're still in the library.” He took an astonished Merlin by the elbow. “Here, let me show you where it is. Sorry, Perce, I'll be back in a tick.”

 

“But I don't know anyone –” Merlin began, digging in his heels after taking a few stumbling steps forward.

 

Arthur darted a glance at the people around them, then risked leaning in, hoping he wouldn't be heard by anyone else above the din of the party. “Please, Merlin, I need to talk to you.”

 

Merlin jerked in Arthur's hold, causing the shell of his ear to brush against Arthur's lips. Arthur shut his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, Merlin had pulled back and was staring at him. Arthur held his breath for an interminable moment. Then Merlin nodded, and the air rushed out of Arthur's lungs.

 

Releasing him, Arthur began to weave his way through the crowd, hoping Merlin would follow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Merlin was still reeling from the discovery that the man he hadn't been able to put from his mind for over a year was Mithian's fiancé, so he didn't pay much attention to the room he'd been led to until Nigel – no, Arthur – turned and closed the door behind them.

 

“This isn't a library,” Merlin said, folding his arms and taking in what must have been Arthur's bedroom, which was easily larger than his entire flat. “But then, you do have a habit of calling things by the wrong name.”

 

Arthur winced. “I suppose I deserve that.”

 

“I should have known. You didn't look like a Nigel. But then, nobody really looks like a Nigel.”

 

“Merlin, I'm ashamed of what I did that night.” Merlin's heart thudded dully in his chest, and Arthur took a step forward, his expression apologetic. “Not of what _we_ did, but of what _I_ did – lying about my name, leaving without telling you. I'm so sorry. It was wrong.”

 

“Yes, it was,” Merlin said. “But then, I suppose it was just an anonymous shag, so what did it matter?”

 

Arthur looked as though Merlin had struck him. “I – yes,” he croaked, nodding mechanically as he swallowed. “Good point.”

 

Merlin frowned. “So I'm guessing Mithian hasn't mentioned Gwen? Or Elyan?”

 

Arthur started. “Elyan? How do you know Elyan?”

 

“He's Gwen's brother. Wait, you do know him?”

 

Arthur shook his head. “I've never met him – Mithian began dating him after I left for Afghanistan – but I know of him.”

 

“Right, so – you don't care that Mithian dropped her boyfriend like a hot rock to marry you and your –” he waved a hand at the room “– posh, closeted arse?”

 

Arthur stood staring at him for a long moment, his nostrils flaring, and for a breathless second Merlin was sure he was about to be punched. Then suddenly, all the fight seemed to leave him and he visibly sagged. “Merlin,” he breathed, “there isn't going to be a wedding.”

 

Merlin blinked at him, completely gobsmacked. “What?

 

Arthur's jaw twitched. “I'm not going to marry Mithian. I never intended to.”

 

Merlin took a step forward. “Arthur, you're not making any sense,” he said. “This is your engagement party, isn't it?”

 

“Yes, and it was all my father's idea. Not that I can wholly blame him, because he had every reason to expect I might marry Mithian one day – as far as he's concerned we've been together for over two years, since he started making noises about the need to carry on the Pendragon name.”

 

“'As far as he's concerned'? You mean it's not true?”

 

Arthur ran a hand over his face. “No, it's not true,” he murmured. “It never was true. Mithian's been my best friend since we could walk. She agreed to pose as my girlfriend to keep my father happy while I –worked out some things.”

 

“Some things,” Merlin said. “You mean, telling your father you're gay?”

 

“I mean telling _myself_ I was gay,” Arthur snapped. Then he stopped dead, his eyes going wide. “Christ, I think that's the first time I've actually said it aloud.” Before Merlin could respond to that, Arthur shook his head. “I know you don't give a damn, but for Elyan's sake – and Mithian's, and Gwen's, and hell, for my own sanity – I'll be telling my father tonight.”

 

Merlin's head was spinning. Without thinking, he reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Arthur, I – I don't know what to say.”

 

Arthur stiffened and looked down at the place where Merlin was touching him, and Merlin pulled back, cheeks flushing. “You don't have to say anything. It was only a shag for you, I understand that. But I had to apologise for my conduct.”

 

“It wasn't only a shag for me,” Merlin protested.

 

“I'm only repeating what you said earlier,” Arthur said hollowly.

 

“I thought that was how you saw it.”

 

Arthur's gaze stayed glued to Merlin. “I didn't. I wanted – well, I started the night hoping I'd prove once and for all that I – that I was who my father wanted me to be.” He let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. “I reckoned the night before I shipped out for Afghanistan was the perfect time to settle my sexual identity crisis.”

 

Merlin's gut knotted in sympathy. _God, Arthur,_ he thought.

 

“I set myself a fairly easy goal, because I've never been into the club scene even when I dated women, and just as I suspected, the blokes in that place didn't do a thing for me. And then I saw you.”

 

Merlin sucked in a breath; he could barely hear Arthur's next words for the blood pounding in his ears.

 

“You were – well, you clearly didn't belong there, and you had silly ears –”

 

“Oi,” Merlin said, biting back a smile.

 

“–and you were –” Arthur's voice faltered “– you were beautiful, and when you smiled at me I thought, _well, so much for that plan –_ ” Merlin barked a surprised laugh “– and I'm glad, Merlin, I'm so glad it was you.”

 

It took a few seconds for the unspoken meaning in Arthur's words to sink in, but when they did, it felt like a sledgehammer to the back of the head. “Arthur – are you trying to say you – was that your first time with a man?”

 

Arthur went wide-eyed, the look of fear so out of place on a man in a Royal Marines uniform. Finally, he nodded, and Merlin let out the breath he'd been holding. “Want to hear something even more pathetic?” he rasped. “It was also my only time. Though to be fair, I've been a bit busy.”

 

Merlin bit his lip. “Yes, I suppose you have been. And just for the record, I don't think you're the least bit pathetic. It's not pathetic to worry about the reactions of friends or family. Lots of people have trouble coming out.”

 

“Even to themselves?” Arthur asked, gaze searching Merlin's face.

 

“That can be the hardest part,” Merlin said.

 

Arthur ducked his head. “Thanks,” he said.

 

Risking a step closer, Merlin reached out and ran a tentative finger over the back of Arthur's hand. Arthur's head jerked up, but this time he didn't withdraw. “I guessed you were probably military, you know. There was something about the way you held yourself. I'm happy you made it home safely.”

 

A shadow crossed Arthur's face. “There were times I wasn't sure it was going to happen.”

 

“You must have been scared,” Merlin said.

 

Arthur took a deep breath. “I'm more scared now,” he murmured.

 

“Of telling your dad?”

 

Slowly, Arthur shook his head. His fingers curled around Merlin's still stroking one, and Merlin's heart stuttered in his chest at the look in Arthur's eyes, soft and needy and terrified.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur said, and oh, Merlin had missed hearing his name spoken like that, even if he'd only had it for one night. And then Arthur leaned in and kissed him, and Merlin realised there was a chance he might get to catch up on all he'd been missing.

 

“Oh, _Nigel_ ,” Merlin breathed against Arthur's mouth, unable to resist. Arthur bit down a bit hard on his lower lip in retaliation, making Merlin chuckle and pull him closer.

 

“Arthur,” he murmured in apology some time later, lips brushing Arthur's ear, “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.” Arthur groaned and slid his hands down to Merlin's arse, and Merlin groaned right back, burying his face in Arthur's neck.

 

“I'd like to take you out on a proper date,” Arthur said into Merlin's hair, “if you'd like.”

 

“Yeah,” Merlin said, tilting his face up for another kiss. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

 

“ _Arthur_.”

 

They both broke apart and turned toward the door, where an older man in a military uniform was standing, stiff-backed and clearly furious. Beside Merlin, Arthur snapped to attention.

 

“Father,” he said.

 

 _So much for that plan,_ Merlin thought, bracing himself for the yelling to start.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of all the ways Arthur had envisioned telling his father about himself, this was not one he'd considered.

 

“Arthur,” his father said, “your guests are waiting downstairs for your announcement.”

 

Arthur took a deep breath in through his nose, trying to calm his racing heart. It didn't work. “They're your guests, Father, not mine. I tried to tell you that this wasn't what Mithian and I wanted.”

 

“And I told you it was past time for you to grow up and accept who you are.”

 

“That's what I'm doing,” Arthur said.

 

Uther waved a dismissive hand at Merlin. “I said 'grow up', Arthur, not give in to your adolescent fancies.”

 

Arthur felt his gut twist. “You – you knew I –”

 

“It's not uncommon for boys to have those thoughts, Arthur,” his father scoffed. “But they eventually rise above them. I don't see why you cannot do the same.”

 

“Wow,” Merlin breathed.

 

“What did you say?” Uther snapped. Arthur glanced at Merlin, who stood unflinching, his arms crossed.

 

“I was just expressing my astonishment at the level of ignorance you're displaying.”

 

“I can have you removed from this house very quickly, young man.”

 

“If you toss him out, I'm following right behind him.” Arthur blinked. Had those words just come from his mouth?

 

Uther's thunderous expression gave him his answer. Before he could think better of it, he reached for Merlin's hand. Merlin's fingers squeezed back, and Arthur felt his stomach calm.

 

“Father,” Arthur said, “I know this isn't what you want for me, but it's who I am. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with it, so I don't expect you to accept it overnight. However, I hope you will –” he drew a shuddering breath “– because you're my father, and I love you very much.”

 

Arthur thought he might have seen a small crack in his father's stony expression, but before he could speak, Mithian rushed in behind him. “I'm sorry to interrupt –” she trailed off, frowning. “Merlin? Is that you?”

 

“Yes,” Merlin said, waving weakly. “Erm. Hi.”

 

Mithian stared at him for another moment, then seemed to shake herself. “Uther, Arthur, you're going to have to come downstairs.”

 

“Oh God,” Arthur breathed. “What now?”

 

“Morgana's on the podium. It seems she's making an announcement of her own.”

 

“What? But she knows we're not –”

 

Mithian shook her head. “It's not about us, Arthur. It's about her.” She darted a look at Uther, who had gone completely white. In the next moment, he had stormed off.

 

“Bollocks,” Arthur breathed. Turning back to Merlin, he said, “I'm sorry, I have to –”

 

“Go, I know,” Merlin said, nodding. “It's fine. I should be heading out, anyway.”

 

Arthur must have looked as pathetic as he felt, because Merlin leaned in quickly and kissed him on the mouth. “I'll leave you my number, don't worry. Now go.”

 

Arthur burst into a wide, pleased grin before pulling him into a hug, taking strength from Merlin's return embrace.

 

“So, you and Merlin are...?” Mithian asked as they headed for the stairs.

 

“It's a little too soon to answer that,” Arthur said, smiling. “But I have hopes.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Three Months Later_

 

 

“And this is a pauldron,” Gwen said, “it's got a buckle –”

 

“Yes, I can see that, thanks,” Merlin said. “I may not be an expert on mediaeval armour, but even I know how a buckle works.”

 

Gwen rolled her eyes, and Merlin mock-bowed. “Sorry, I forgot my place. As milady commands.”

 

“Oh, sod off.”

 

Merlin laughed and set to his work. When he finished the first, he picked up the other. “Seriously, you look magnificent.”

 

Gwen smiled, holding out her free arm. “I do look rather fetching, don't I? Elyan's work is extraordinary.”

 

“It's not just Elyan's work,” Merlin said.

 

“You're sweet,” Gwen said, kissing him on the cheek.

 

“Here now, no fooling around with the help,” Elyan said as he entered the tent. He was wearing a similar suit of armour to Gwen's.

 

“I'm sorry, it's not terribly chivalrous, is it?” Gwen said, giggling.

 

Merlin handed Gwen the helm, then grinned at Elyan. “Are Lance and Mithian all suited up, then?”

 

Elyan nodded. “Ready to go. Arthur makes an excellent manservant.” Merlin bit his lip, and Elyan looked scandalised. “Not like _that_ ,” he protested, and Merlin laughed.

 

“I'm sorry, but 'manservant' always sounded rather – erm, kinky – to me.”

 

Elyan looked to Gwen for support, but she only shrugged. “Don't look at me. I agree with him.”

 

“I clearly have a lot of work ahead of me to make you a real mediaevalist,” Elyan said, shaking his head.

 

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Gwen told him. “I'm only here for the cool outfits.” With that, she placed her helmet on her head and strode out of the tent, clanking all the way.

 

Merlin stared after her, more than a little awed. “I still can't believe your and Gwen's idea of a healthy relationship is to whack your significant others with swords.”

 

“It's cheaper than couples therapy,” Elyan said. “Actually, it's probably not cheaper than therapy, but it's much more fun.”

 

“You and Mithian and Gwen and Lance don't need couples therapy.”

 

“Preventative maintenance, mate,” Elyan said, clapping on the arm as they walked out of the tent together. “I'll have you and Arthur in armour before the year's out.”

 

“No bloody way,” Merlin said, laughing. “We're still in that halcyon stage before heavy weaponry becomes necessary.”

 

“What's this about weaponry?” Arthur asked, coming up behind them and slinging an arm around Merlin's shoulders.

 

“Elyan thinks he's going to get us kitted out,” Merlin said, giving Arthur a peck on the lips.

 

“No, thank you,” Arthur said. “Too much like my day job.”

 

“Fair point,” Elyan said. “Well, I'll catch you after the tourney, yeah?”

 

“May the best women win,” Merlin called out, and Elyan replied with a two-finger salute as he jogged toward the field.

 

“It's bad form to antagonise people with swords, Merlin,” Arthur murmured in his ear.

 

“I'm not afraid of him,” Merlin said. “I have skills.” He made karate chopping motions in the air. Or perhaps it was tai chi. He'd taken classes, but had been hopeless at both disciplines.

 

Arthur nearly doubled over laughing, and Merlin punched him on the shoulder. “Oi! That's not very supportive.”

 

“Sorry,” Arthur said, gasping.

 

“How did lunch go with your father yesterday?” Merlin asked, snaking his arm around Arthur's hips.

 

Arthur sobered quickly. “All right. He actually asked after you. Remembered your name and everything.”

 

“My name wasn't prefaced by 'that bastard', by any chance, was it?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Progress, then,” Merlin said, and Arthur chuckled. “How are you feeling about it?”

 

“Pretty good, actually. I was afraid – after Morgana, I mean – that he'd withdraw completely. But he's open to a relationship, and that's more than I hoped for.”

 

Merlin nodded. The days after Morgana announced she was Uther's illegitimate daughter by his best friend's wife had been rough for Arthur. As for Uther, Merlin felt very little sympathy for the man who'd kept such a secret all those years, hurting his children in the process. “And what about Morgana?”

 

Arthur sighed. “I still haven't heard from her. She believes I knew, Merlin, but I didn't.”

 

“I know, love. Don't worry. She'll come round,” Merlin said, squeezing Arthur's waist.

 

“I hope you're right,” Arthur said grimly as they came to a halt at the edge of the field.

 

“I'm always right,” Merlin said loftily.

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “You are, are you?”

 

“Mm-hmm. Better get used to it.”

 

Arthur turned toward him, cupping Merlin's face in his hands. “I already have,” he murmured, and Merlin realised they were talking about something else entirely. Not that he cared.

 

By the time they came up for air, they'd missed the first round of the tourney. Not that Merlin cared about that, either.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Homophobia, internalized homophobia.


End file.
